I was doing an art project at the ICA in 2004 that involved setting up a radio broadcasting unit in the gallery. It was based on Cocteau's 1950 film Orphée, in which Orpheus picks up coded messages from a dead poet on his car radio. So I was thinking about death and mourning, and researching the history of wireless, ie thinking about crypts and encryption, and the idea for the novel came to me.

What was most difficult about it?

Same as always: getting to the point where you can believe in the book's world as a viable reality. I don't mean a "realistic" one – just one that's carried by its own momentum. Once you get past that point of critical velocity or whatever, the whole project flies – but it's a fucker to get there.

What did you most enjoy?

Reading about first world war pilots and early radio buffs and 1920s drug-fiends. C is absolutely not a "historical novel" (it's about new media and empire - ie about now), but all the same it's set during that period and the research was real fun.

How long did it take?

About four years. I was writing other things too, though, during that time.

What has changed for you since it was first published?

I get a lot more media attention, and sell more books. That's it though – that stuff doesn't help you to write any better!

The films of David Lynch exhilarate me totally, and so does a lot of contemporary visual art.

Give us a writing tip.

William Burroughs said "Learn to type". Alex Trocchi said "Spend a year playing pinball". I'd say those are both good tips.

What, if anything, would you do differently if you were starting the book again?

Once you've written a book and look back at the process, it's like the build-up to a goal. You wouldn't change anything, even the missed passes and accidental ricochets, because they led to what turned out to be the thing.

What are you working on now?

A new novel, provisionally titled "Satin Island". It's about pollution and mutation and the folly of grand projects. It starts with a giant oil-spill. But it's not environmentalist: the narrator loves the oil spill, and compares oil staining snowy coastlines to ink flowing onto pages. It's about the beauty of corruption – something like that.